Better Homes and Gardens by Clint Barton
by PeechTao
Summary: After a private moment with Steve, Clint sets out to do something generous for the Captain. With Pepper as an accomplice and Stark's credit card, Clint decides to buy Steve a place and set the decor back to the 40s. But Clint's constant disappearances worry the others. Back dropping the drama is their most recent mission. One in which Clint or Steve may not make it out alive.
1. Preface

_Author Note: so i haven't quite finished writing this one yet, but i figured i had some time so I'd post the first chapter now. Please enjoy!_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Preface

The target resided in the eighty-third floor of the Grand Hotel on Charter Street, nearly half the city away from the Stark Tower. Clint Barton was only too happy that it was within the same state, let alone the same country.

The target was a wealthy man, enjoying the high life of his get-rich-quick schemes that had him rolling in so much wealth he considered spilling over into other forms of crime. What brought Hawkeye and the other Avengers knocking at his door was the man's sudden purchase of nuclear grade zirconium. He was a small time fish in a shark's pond. Clint was not necessarily given a kill order. For now he was only meant to observe this Randall Grant and see what he was planning to do.

It was fortunate that at the time the building adjoining Randall's was undergoing some renovations. The top eight floors were abandoned, the construction workers disappearing by five or so, allowing Clint the opportunity to observe his target in relative peace and comfort. He'd picked a room in the hotel that abucked the corner of the building, allowing him a considerable view of the city and the room beyond. The mission was relatively as simple as long term observation. Nothing more. Besides that, unless Clint saw a major arms dealer walking in with a howdy-do to Randall, he was supposed to remain out of the situation. On the ground, Rogers was coordinating the rest of the team from the hotel bar in the target's building. He was sitting with Natasha, enjoying drinks and conversation. The bar had been the recent meeting place of a few well-known home terrorist groups. How Randall was grouped in with that, was a mystery.

Stationed across town at a secondary location were Bruce and Tony. According to SHIELD reports, Randall enjoyed the local Go-Go club as much as any man with too much money and too much time on his hands. Tony knew the place well. He and Bruce would be spending the night there.

At Clint's position there was a single window with a movable glass. He propped it open with a block of wood to let in a small breeze. He didn't like the stale air that the construction work kicked up. It tended to give him a dizzying, sick feeling. If he was going to spend the next few hours here, he wanted to be comfortable. Never could he have realized the danger lurking in that heavy air. At least, not until it came crawling up on him.

He felt the sudden wallop that had him reeling. His body twisted, righting itself before suffering the broken back the beam he hit would have caused. A fist sailed toward his face. Clint Barton allowed training rather than thought deflect it. A led pipe followed. It crushed his arm into his side. Clint rolled, keeping his mind from absorbing the pain signals that fired across his skin and bones. He swept out his leg, but the person retreated for the open doorway.

Clint got to his feet and followed. He tapped his comm. "Hawkeye in, one known assailant heading east in the Covington Building."

"_Roger that, need assistance?" _Captain America radioed back.

Clint edged himself along a wall, peering into the hallway. Clear construction plastic blew soundlessly in the breeze of the windows. Support struts littered the open doorways. In the room beyond he knew there was limited cover between the unfinished sixtieth floor renovations. Between the plastic and wood wall frames, there was hardly a place in which his attacker could hide. By the same token, there wasn't much Clint could do for cover himself. He checked his arm. He could use his bow well enough to make whatever injury he sustained not worth paying attention to.

"I got it handled." Clint relayed back, and then cut the link.

* * *

Well, that's all for now! tune in soon for the update:)


	2. Chapter 1

_Author Note: so i haven't quite finished writing this one yet, but i figured i had some time so I'd post the first chapter now. Please enjoy!_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 1

Clint Barton had already finished two hours of straight circuit training. He'd given himself a grand thirty second break in between reps and was now to the point of utter exhaustion. He felt like his body would melt into a pool of Jell-O before he could ever make it to the elevator and his room beyond that. The only thing he had to show for his workout was the extra pounds he was not gaining from Stark's private chef and the runner's high of adrenalin making him jittery.

Acting as today's workout partner was Steve Rogers. It was something to live up to. Impossible standards to-be-sure, but at least Clint could hold some aspirations in life. Thor had come and gone over time. The Asgardian been distracted by the idea of Tony inviting him out to some random trip the billionaire cooked up and the gym was emptied to only Clint and Rogers. Steve spotted Clint for a few rounds of weight lifting, then went off to his own rigorous routine involving a few dozen punching bags that obviously couldn't stand up to him. Clint watched him for a while, catching his breath and satisfying a little of his own curiosity.

"You know," Clint said after the fifth bag went skittering across the floor. "You should get Tony to sponsor Spalding. He'd make a mint off of you."

Steve walked over to his stack of spare bags and effortless raised a new one to the hook. "Anyway to make a dime, I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

Clint chewed on that notion for a few minutes, wondering what it was that bothered him about it. Sure, Steve and Tony never really got along. They were teammates in one sense, bitter rivals in another, and sometimes the line crossed into all out enemies. They were both Clint's friends, as far as Hawkeye considered.

"You know, he's not as bad as you think." Clint told him. He grabbed his towel off the back of his work bench and walked over to where Steve was decimating another bag. He didn't miss the increase in tempo that Rogers worked himself up in when the sensitive topic was approached.

"Guy cares two cents for his own father. A father I knew to be a good friend. Made me what I am. Never gave up on me. Tends to rub a guy wrong." Steve swung, hard, and it was all Clint could do to avoid the punching bag as it passed him and exploded against the wall. Steve stood in place, heaving a little.

Clint rocked back on his heels. It was difficult to find an accurate retort for that. "Well, Howard Stark didn't have Tony when he knew you. Could have played a part in what changed him."

"People don't change that much." Steve replied, sharply.

A pause stretched uncomfortably between them. After a time, Steve began to relax a little, he looked over at Clint. "Hey, look. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you."

Clint pasted a smile on his face. "It's different seeing some emotion in you, Rogers. Usually you're so, you know, stoic."

Now Rogers smiled also. "Stoic?"

"Unflappable. Don't get to see what's on your sleeve much." To prove his point, Clint headed over to Steve's pile of possessions he kept arranged on one of the benches. He picked up a paperback lying under Steve's coat. "The Great Gatsby? Took you more for a comic-book kind of guy."

His workout officially interrupted, Steve abandoned the punching bags and walked over to him. "Never really got into them. Especially after most of them turned out about me. Always felt a little, I don't know, weird. Like they're trying to plot out your life or something." He took the book back and sat down with it in his hands. "I like reading about the 20's and 40's. It's like having a little piece of home back. I like Ernest Hemingway a lot. _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ was in the locker I had back at Boot Camp. Peggy gave me a copy of _Gatsby_, _Native Son_ and _Reveille in Washington_. I don't know what ever happened to them."

Clint stood there for a little while looking at the captain. Even with Clint standing and Steve not, they were nearly eye level. In their brief exchange Clint felt he'd been given an insight to Steve Rogers the person then any mission debrief could tell him. "Wow, Steve, never really knew that about you."

"Never asked." Steve pointed out.

To that, Clint had no argument. He patted the captain on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Don't stay down here too late." He said on his way out.

Clint didn't waste any time going up the few dozen floors of Stark Tower and tracking down Tony Stark. Usually at this time of day (well after noon) he was either hounding the cleaning lady to make him a sandwich, regardless that he didn't like foreign fingers touching anything destined for his mouth, or he was on the rooftop penthouse overlooking the city. He was surprised when not finding him at the former, he was equally unlucky with the latter. Instead of hunting all over town for him, Clint did the next best option and went to his room to dig up his cell phone. He'd never been good about keeping it handy, and now was no exception. It was buried under a pile of clothing, still in the pocket of the pants he'd worn to a mission four days prior. He had fifteen missed calls, mostly from SHIELD. Four of those calls left messages. None of them were important enough for him to stop his present course of action to reply to.

He dialed in Stark's private cell phone and waited impatiently for the voice to pop up. When it did at last, a surprised Tony was waiting on the other side for him.

_"Hey, look who's actually placing a call? Didn't know you could even work the numbers." _Stark said. His voice was muffled, like he was running through a windy tunnel or driving his convertible with the top down.

"Tony, are you out Iron Manning somewhere without me?" Clint asked.

_"Me? Never! I'm just out, you know, walking the dog."_

"Tony, we don't have a dog."

_"Then I'm out buying a dog, and now I'm walking it. Is that really a problem?"_

Clint figured dropping the issue was better than facing it head on. No doubt Stark was out in the world causing trouble (or solving it) and Clint could just as easily figure out which by turning on the Channel Five news. Didn't he bring Thor along? "Never mind, Tony I need a favor. It's a small one."

_"You want tacos for dinner? I can totally get some authentic ones right now."_

"Stark, I really hope that means you're down at La Mexicana on Fifth Avenue and not crossing the border without your passport **again**."

_"I'm not sure I want to implicate myself with a yes or a no."_

Clint sat on the end of his bed, trying desperately not to feed into the not-so-subtle hints Tony was continually dropping on him. He was desperate to have someone in on whatever game he was obviously playing. But again, Clint had a more important task on his mind than Tony's stunts. "Forget it. I really, really don't want to know what you are doing in Mexico right now. What I want to know is if you can lend me two million dollars."

There was a slight hiccup on the end of the line, like an engine sputtering out or Tony losing about two-thousand-feet's worth of altitude. When his voice returned, there was a newly inquisitive tone behind it. _"Um, forgive me; I thought you mention a small favor? And since when was SHIELD pay so good it could repay a cool two mil?"_

"You know me getting that out of you is like asking Banner for a quarter, and you know I'm good for it, now will you just say yes already?"

_"I know you would willingly be robbing a major bank the next time you happen to be in Iran, but that doesn't make you good for it. And may I ask just what my funds are going towards? A private war in a little country perhaps? Planning to buy Hawaii?"_

"Apartments in New York aren't cheap, and I want one with a view, is that good enough?" Clint fired back. "You know, Pepper does handle the accounting, I could have just asked her for it."

The line was silent for a long time. So long Clint figured Tony had simply hung up and would be blasting through Clint's window in a matter of minutes. When Stark did decide to speak again, his attitude had altered for a second time. He was quieter, almost indignant. Clint couldn't understand why.

"Sure. Clint. If that's what you want, I'll help. Call Marlene over in accounting. She'll cut the check no questions."

"Thanks, Tony." Clint told him. "Really, I appreciate it."

"Sure."

Before either of them said a proper farewell, Stark had hung up, leaving an unsaid emptiness on Clint's part. He didn't know what could have gotten him so miffed in such a short period of time, but Stark was like that with his emotions. One minute care free, talking about tacos and flying over Mexico, the next reserved and standoffish. In a way, it reminded him exactly of Steve Rogers. Why the two didn't get along better was still a bit of a mystery.

_No it's not._ Clint thought to himself. _Tony's outlandish, and Steve's centered._ They were polar opposites with Stark's ego to boot. It was not at all a mystery why they rubbed each other wrong. Well, now that he had the funds to actually do something about it, Clint was determined to make life a little easier for the provisional leader of the Avengers.

He showered and changed out of his gym gear and grabbed his wallet and a set of Stark's spare keys from the top of his dresser. Shoving them in his pocket, he flicked through his voicemails to see what it was he was missing from SHIELD. If it had been something important, they knew to call Stark and have the message relayed. As suspected, they were relatively sedate. The State Department had a chance to look at Clint's service record from before the Manhattan incident and cleared him of any wrong doing as to the death of the men on the Helicarrier. Fury had already gone through the effects of the bogus investigation, meant more for the victims than any disciplinary action to Barton, the week prior. Clint was pleased to find the business had finally been resolved and the case closed.

The second was a message from Natasha. She'd spent the last three weeks assisting Banner in a Chicago Research Symposium. Not because she cared about research endeavors nor had any idea what most of the egg heads were discussing, but Banner felt safer with himself if a familiar face was around. After the short time of living in the Tower he may have trusted himself around the Avengers, but the outside world he was considerably leery of. Natasha reported all was going well, and she expected to be dragging the good doctor home any day now. The others were useless banter from Tony.

Caught up with the things he missed out in life, Clint placed his phone beside his other pocket items and headed out to the living room and elevator beyond. Steve had followed him up and was standing in the kitchen, rifling around for food.

"Going out?" Steve asked, somewhat surprised.

Not expecting to run into him, or having to produce a cover story on the fly, Clint stood still for a minute in contemplation. "Uh—Yeah, I—Got a call from SHIELD. Got to see Marilyn. Or Marvin. Or you know, that R and D chick on floor twelve? No? Well, I have to go get some details from her then I've got a mission I think."

Steve cocked his head. "Clint, you ok?"

Not about to let himself be found out this soon in the game, Barton turned toward the elevator and called back over his shoulder. "Yup. Fine. Don't worry about it. See you later. I think Tony's bringing home some Tacos from Cancun when he gets in."

Steve watched as Clint beat a hasty retreat and disappeared up the elevator hallway. He could tell a lie when he heard it. But Clint had never lied to him or even given him a reason to be concerned in the past. Well, except when he was shooting people under Loki's influence. The Avenger took a step back from himself for a moment to evaluate the errant thought. What had brought it out? Clint was proving, time and again, he was an invaluable member of the team. Both as a scout and general morale booster. In fact, Steve couldn't imagine the team without him, a fact he'd even stated in the report he'd filed with Director Fury over whether or not he felt comfortable trusting Clint on assignment. So why this sudden suspicion? Steve couldn't answer his own question. For now he buried his disconcertion until he could better understand where it originated from.

* * *

ok, so that's chapter 1! hope you're liking, i love all this feedback!


	3. Chapter 2

_Author Note: sorry short chapter! will try and have next up soon!  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 2

Clint stalked around the corner of the hall with his bow taught in his hands. He had a standard tip mounted for now, until he had a better idea of what was going on. With a sharp look to his arm he tried to evaluate whether he'd be requiring a meeting with Bruce when all this was over. As far as he could tell, besides knowing he'd gotten hit with a pipe, he felt and looked fine. Most likely he was suppressing the pain until it hit him like a brick later on. Well, at least that was something he didn't have to deal with immediately.

Hawkeye took careful steps up the hall until he was standing in the construction room. To his left were the four already installed glass window looking out over his mark's building. Directly forward and to the right were various wall frames and intermittent drywall with insulation or simply plastic sheeting. What Clint did not find was a man in black waiting to either make his escape or come back for round two. Still on guard, Clint made a thorough sweep of the room from left to right. Unless the guy who gave him a beating was invisible, then there was no way he was in this room.

A small blip echoed in his ear indicating one of his teammates was trying to get in touch of him. Clint tapped the mic.

"Hawkeye here, sweep came up empty." He cleared his throat; suddenly it felt like he'd inhaled a handful of drywall dust.

"_Understood, checking the other floors_?" Steve asked.

Clint rubbed his face with the back of his arm and coughed to clear his throat out. "_Yes, I think it's . . ._" Clint stopped, he wheezed, suddenly fighting to get a clear breath in his lungs. His eyes began to burn. He coughed harder.

"_Hawk, come in, finish that_?" Steve replied.

Clint released his arrow, driving the point into the floor while he staggered to the side. "St—Steve." He gasped. He fell to the side, placing a hand against his chest. As his mind tried to work out what had just happened to him.

"_Clint_?" It was Tony this time, forgoing code names. He was worried.

"Tony? I'm, I think," Clint's vision faded out before he hit the floor on his back.

* * *

i know, its short... sorry sorry!


	4. Chapter 3

_Author Note: sorry these chapters are taking so long!  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 3

Clint had never been in the market for an apartment before. Let alone one in Manhattan. He knew he had a pocket deep enough (via Tony Stark) to get whatever he wanted, but that didn't make the hunt any easier. In fact, he found most places either too overpriced for gutter living, or an all-out cut-throat fight between multimillionaire men and their mistresses. Clint preferred to be back in Marrakesh with his finger nails beings peeled back by a Chinese midget with a pair of pliers then the stress he endured as a potential apartment owner.

When his fifth attempt to navigate the market fell flat, he finally decided it was time he needed help. At least he had no better access than the always willing Pepper Potts. She was more than knowledgeable in the shifting real estate market and given the sizable check she'd been asked to stamp into Clint's personal account she was bouncing to know just what he was doing with all that money.

He'd been able to see her at Stark Industries without Tony in tow one day in late September. A full two months since his conversation with Steve that set his whole plan into motion. He even had the wherewithal to call ahead, speak to Pepper's secretary, and set and off-the-books appointment. If that wasn't enough to get her undivided attention, nothing was. Frankly, they lived under the same roof. He never needed an appointment to speak from his heart with her on a matter unless it was something he did not want Tony to know about.

The meeting didn't come a moment too soon. Stark and Rogers were at each others throats once more. The close quarters was making them crazy. The other day Steve was attempting to create breakfast while Tony decided to fell him at every port. Such as stealing his frying pan, flushing his eggs down the toilet, and burning his toast. It was retribution for Steve filing a rather scathing report with SHIELD about Tony's personal attempt at command. In the fallout that followed shouts were exchanged, fists nearly flew, and it was only by the grace of Banner and Clint that the two were pulled apart from each other. Steve took off on his bike. Tony hopped his private helicopter. They still had yet to speak to one another.

:_:_:

As expected, Pepper was waiting eagerly in her office when he arrived. So much so, that when the door shut behind him, Pepper launched out of her chair and bounded over to him.

"So what's the news!" She said, elated. "Tell me, Clint, I'm just dying! Did you find a place? How is it? Do you love it? You don't—I . . . don't know anything about you trying to find an apartment and I should just stop talking now before you have me killed, shouldn't I?"

Clint tried to be surprised at her ability to know exactly what he'd been up to, but frankly it was Pepper he was talking to. "Well, yes and no. Yes I am looking for a place, and no I'm not going to hire Fury to come whack you in your sleep. Come on, sit down and let me try and explain it."

He got her over to the couch and she sat beside him with her legs folded and eyes dancing in excitement.

"Well, I've been trying to find a place for Cap." Clint admitted. "But I know jack about owning a place. Or buying one. Or finding one for that matter."

Pepper's expressive face suddenly turned to inquisitive. "But Clint, I don't . . . I thought you were moving out? I thought Natasha and you were . . .?"

"Me?" Clint almost exclaimed. "Hell, Pepper, you can't get rid of me that easy. It doesn't make sense for Nat or me to get a place. We'd be gone nine plus months of the year anyway. Who told you I was moving out?"

She opened her mouth but didn't make any sound. She just shrugged her shoulders as if it were a natural conclusion she'd drawn for herself.

"No, it's for Steve. He's not into all this real world crap he has to deal with. I thought, or I was wondering, if it might be a nice kind of escape for him." Clint leaned in, his hands moving as he tried to express the pent up excitement he'd been harboring. "You know, I was going to get a bunch of antiques, from the forties. A record player, radio, one of those fold-down beds, the whole nine yards. I was just going to totally deck the place out. When they pulled him from the ice and set him up at SHIELD, I was teamed with Coulson on Capsicle watch. Coulson was just like a little kid, He helped pick out the interior and constantly changed things around he didn't feel were right. I just, I don't know, I thought it might be nice for him. To have his own space. What do you think?" He looked at Pepper, his beautiful blue eyes entreating.

Given the genuine outpouring of his heart, Pepper could do nothing but agree. "Clint, I think that is the nicest thing I've ever heard. And I agree. I would be good for him."

"I asked Tony for the money because I thought if he had a hand in funding it, the two of them might smooth over some of that tension." Clint went on.

Pepper jumped to her feet and went right for her desk. She fired up her computer and within two minutes her phone was at her ear. To Clint she said, "You leave the apartment to me. You start tracking down some of the things you want to put in it and tomorrow night get ready to move in, got it?"

Clint smiled at her. He walked around the desk and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Pepper, you are amazing."

:_:_:

Being as Clint knew relatively nothing about life in the 40s or what that may entail, he was relying heavily on the chance that he could get a hold of a report Coulson had done back during Capsicle watch. It would be inappropriate if Clint Barton, one of the men responsible for the raid on the Helicarrier (and subsequently Coulson's death), asked for his handler's personal file. But that's where Natasha came in.

He had just finished getting his minor gear together and was on his way to borrow one of Tony's cars when he passed Natasha getting jazzy-dressed in her room. She had on a floor length red dress, the back so low he could just let his eyes rest there forever. Knowing she was observed, she turned to see him. Her hands were fitting a pair of overpriced diamond earrings to her lobes. The sight of them was nearly blinding.

"Romanov, you do like to stun." He told her admiringly. "Tony request your hand at the ball or are you out to find Prince Charming?"

If she hadn't just painted her nails, she would have considered slapping him for the hungry look he had plastered on his face. "Partners, Clint." She told him. "Doesn't mean I wont still kill you in your sleep if I ever got the call for it."

Clint smiled. "Means you wont just do it for no reason. You have turned a corner."

Polished nails or no, she did stalk forward to smack him for that jab. Clint grabbed her wrist before it made contact with his face.

"Sorry, you know I don't mean it. Actually I need a favor."

She pulled her hand away. "Some bedside manner you have to ask for it." She went back to her vanity table and sat, trying to fix the second earing in her lobe. "If it's to kill Loki, just tell me when and where. You're too feisty when you aren't sleeping."

Clint snickered. He walked in, letting his hands drift against her bare shoulders. The skin beneath his touch tensed for a moment before relaxing.

"Actually, no. I haven't mastered enough interstellar mind travel to ask that of you."

"Ok, so no murder. I don't know what you could possibly need me for that you can't get done yourself."

"I want Coulson's file." Clint said plainly.

Natasha's hand stopped brushing through her hair. She turned in her chair, her eyes looking both curiously and disturbed at him. "Clint, I—"

"His personal one." Clint told her. "Not SHIELD records. I know if you ask for it, they'll give it to you. And I know they won't give it to me."

Natasha opened her mouth to object. She didn't know what Clint had going through his mind, but this was ridiculous. What could he possibly want with it? To torture himself? So soon after being cleared of any wrongdoing?

"Please, Tasha." He pleaded. Those big blue eyes of his dropped to her level. "It's important. Not just for me. Please."

Before she knew what she had done, her head was nodding in agreement. Clint straightened and was gone, leaving her with a well of confused emotions.

* * *

thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 4

_Author Note: here's an extra chapter for being such good sports!  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 4

"Clint? Clint can you hear me?" Tony screamed. He was standing now, making a positively spectacle of blowing Banner's and his cover at the Go-Go club. Bruce for his part tried to grab at Stark's elbow and drag him back into a seat, but Tony only shrugged him off.

"Stark, you reading me?" Steve radioed.

"Yeah, clear, What just happened?!" Stark continued to shout.

"Lost contact, I'm going up to see what—"

"Forget it!" Stark cut in. He flicked his wrist, working the small metal gyro implanted beneath the skin.

Banner beside him knew instantly that unless he got Tony out of the bar, his latest Iron Man suit would end up blasting through a wall. Instead of begging for Tony to sit down, Banner was now helping to escort his friend out.

"Give me two minutes, I'll be there myself." Stark said.

"Negative!" Steve shouted. "I'm almost there already. Don't blow your cover."

Bruce wasn't exactly fast enough in getting Tony Stark to exit the building. They were within sight of the front door right before the wall beside it was leveled. Iron Man Mac 56 stood there with its shell opened, waiting for Tony to climb in.

"Uh," Bruce broke into the conversation. "Might be a little late on the cover thing, Steve."

"Stark!"

Tony climbed in. He barely allowed the suit a chance to fit closed before he pulled Banner against him and rocketed away with repolser's flaring. Bruce wasn't one to really enjoy flying, especially from the outside of an airplane in the arms of a man that was now officially emotionally compromised. But he'd had enough experience with Tony by now to know he should remain calm, and as still as humanly possible. The last thing the world needed was the Hulk dropped from thirty-stories up on an unsuspecting populace.

"Never knew we were this close." Banner quipped, indicating the firefighter's hold Tony had him in.

"If he needs a doctor I want you there." Tony said.

"Not much experience in the ER, Tony, you know that."

"Patched us up before."

"Do you think Clint's going to need getting patched up?"

"If he's not dead already, then yeah. I do."

:_:_:

Steve pulled the comm out of his ear as he scrambled up the construction chute of the Covington Building. Why he ever bothered with them was a mystery in itself. More often than not, Stark would ignore his orders, if he chose to pretend they were orders at all and not mere suggestions. Give Clint's final radio call, everyone had a right to be on edge, but abandoning the mission entirely was a ridiculous waste of man power until it was known exactly what had happened. For all Steve was concerned, Clint could have tripped over some construction equipment or fell through a floor. With other lives on the line and Petronium in unknown hands, it wasn't a mystery as to which was most important to keep on top of in Steve's mind.

He climbed out of the chute around the fiftieth floor and used a series of access ladders to climb the remainder of the way up. Given top speed, he still had another four minutes before Tony could make it to the building, Giving Steve plenty of time, if he hurried, to figure out the nature of what was going on.

By the time he crested the last five levels, he began to feel strange. A distinct hiss cut through the air, not unlike the sound of a terrified viper or . . . more likely . . . a broken gas line. Steve slowed, he pulled the neck of his shirt up and covered his mouth with it. As yet he didn't smell anything that would give away traditional propane, but caution was always a better alternative.

Swiftly he returned his comm to his ear and tapped in for Tony. "Stark? Stark, whatever you do DO NOT enter the building. I think there's a gas leak. A big one. Do you hear me? You blow out one of these windows with your laser hands and this place could blow up like the Fourth of July."

Somewhere in the distance he could hear a voice crackle with life. "Copy. Be there in three. Hovering outside, give me the all clear when you can."

Steve sighed in relief. Well at least Stark did listen to some things. He continued his search upward, following the noise and looking for signs of Clint. Thus far he'd encountered no trace of the assassin, which wasn't unusual. The Tower itself held little evidence that Natasha or Clint even existed in the place regardless of them living there for months.

"Hawkeye?" Steve called out. He took the stairs to the last level. The sound was loudest now. Still he didn't smell the gas, but his whole body was screaming in danger. His breathing was rapid and shallow. He was feeling light headed. Colors danced over his eyes as he tried to clear his vision. His body began to feel heavy.

"Stark?" He radioed. He'd found the source of the sound. An overturned tank nestled in plastic sheeting and a pile of insulation.

"Cap? Go ahead."

"Get in here. Its—Monoxide." Steve staggered, his head fell to the side, taking in the sight of two black boots stretched along the floor. An arrow stuck up beside them, fired by their owner who lay in rosy-cheeked shock.

"Clint's down."


	6. Chapter 5

_Author Note: here's an extra chapter for being such good sports!  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 5

Clint thumbed through the various pages of Coulson's file. Most of the sensitive material had been blocked out by the local SHIELD sharpy pusher but at least the research was still intact. Coulson was not joking in his obsession with the first Avenger. Apparently he had a few lines out to various other Captain America collectors, men and women who may have a few things they'd be willing to give up for the man himself to have a little piece of his home. Clint added their names and contact information to his expanding notebook list.

To cover up his constant disappearances he had to spin a little tale about a mission he was on that didn't exactly exist. It satisfied most of the group, for now at least, but Clint wasn't sure how long a reprieve he'd be granted before Natasha or Steve realized that no such orders from SHIELD ever came through. The overall likelihood that he'd ever be given a mission that kept him within the state boundaries, let alone the continent itself, was so farfetched it wouldn't be a surprise if Natasha had caught on already.

Pepper had come through on her promise and the title for the apartment was signed that next morning. Eager to give Steve a peace-of-mind about it, Clint made a fifty-sheet stack of papers requiring Steve's signature in multiple complicated locations. The title to the apartment was stuffed somewhere between the fortieth, and fiftieth pages. As expected, by the time Steve reached it, he was signing so robotically he hadn't a chance to read the fine print.

:_:_:

A few hours prior, Clint had offered to pick Pepper up from the office. They must have bought out every thrift shop on their way to see the new place. The interior decorator and a curator from the Smithsonian were both waiting and eager to begin the project for Captain America.

Clint considered turning the name list of Coulson's over to them, but in the end decided against it. It may be more worthwhile if he visited the collectors himself as a member of the Avengers. He made a few more scratches in his notebook before snapping it shut. He couldn't sit in the coffee shop forever staring off into space. People would begin to talk, or worse ask for his autograph. He grabbed his book, stuck his pen behind his ear, and headed out. It was already getting late, but hopefully he could get in touch with the first few names on his list before the hour for a social call was annoyingly late.

:_:_:

"He's sneaking out with no explanation. He requested a background brief on my classified military file. He told everyone he was working on a mission and according to Agent Morrissey no such orders came through."

"Steve, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm concerned."

Steve was standing at the kitchen island. An untended plate of dinner waited, cold, in front of him. To his left was Banner. The doctor's arms were folded, his face was troubled. Directly across from him was Natasha. Her plate too was laying uneaten. Beside her Thor was consuming his second dish completely unimpeded by the advent of a sensitive topic.

Steve hadn't planned on the little meeting that inevitably began like most difficult discussion did, around the dinner table. After his initial doubt over Clint's strange behavior two months before, Steve had begun to pay more attention to their teammate to try and understand what he was hiding. The closer Steve got, the harder Clint pushed him away. Then the mysterious mission from SHIELD came in and suddenly Clint was away even more. It was completely unnatural.

Steve looked to Bruce. "What do you think? Notice anything since you've gotten back?"

Bruce was already nodding his agreement. "Well, I mean, nothing serious. He's been working late nights. Doesn't get adequate sleep in the day. Can't tell the last time I saw him passed out on the couch with a tub of ice cream."

"Ok," Steve said. "Anything physical? Like from before?"

Now all eyes were honed on Steve. Thor pushed his food away. Even his appetite was robbed at the thought of Loki being mentioned in conversation.

"Do you know what you're saying?" Natasha accused, a terrifying edge in her voice.

"God, Steve," Banner breathed, rubbing a hand across his face.

But Rogers was persistent. He'd privately been chewing on his fear for too long to just let it pass without being properly addressed.

Her eyes were narrowed. "You mean do you think he's going to try and kill us in our sleep?"

Steve had a strained expression. "You know, that's not what I mean. Is there anything he's done that set off a warning? Something he wanted to keep between the two of you?"

The flicker of recognition was all the group needed to coax the truth out of her. Technically speaking Steve was her head of command. There was nothing he could _do_ that would make her say something she never wanted to admit. But given the nature of their discussion, keeping silent was not in her best interest.

"Coulson's file. He wanted it. Didn't tell me why and I didn't ask."

"Coulson?" Steve asked. "What could he possibly get out of it?"

"I don't know. It was his personal file. Research Coulson did for assignments."

"Background information then?" Banner asked.

"Possibly."

Bruce looked at Steve. "Coulson recruited all of us. Probably knows more about me than I do myself. Could all be written in his files."

"The man too approached me in the desert when Mjolnir abandoned me." Thor said. "It is my understanding that Clint of Barton was involved as well."

"Natasha recruited me, but I have no doubt Coulson sent you." Bruce said. When Natasha affirmed the remark, he asked Steve, "You, Cap? He bring you in too?"

Steve nodded.

"Not to ignore my own enjoyable baby-sat days at his expense," Tony Stark suddenly dropped into the conversation. He appeared around the corner and went for the fridge. Withdrawing a carton of orange juice, he leaned against the counter and drank directly from the top. "And I don't know if Clint is being all psychologically possessed by Thor's brother with the god-complex, but I do know he's moving out."

Natasha was so stunned she nearly knocked over her stool. "What are you talking about?! No he's not!"

Given the obvious shock in her reaction, Tony re-evaluated a previous thought he'd already formed in his mind. "Oh, so you didn't know? Well, isn't that something."

Steve put a hand between the two before Natasha decided to start a fight Tony could not win. "Easy, Romanov! Stark, what are you talking about?"

"Only mentioning he borrowed two million dollars from me to buy an apartment. Or so that was the story."

Bruce's jaw hit the floor, followed by Natasha's. Thor seemed confused and Steve was the only one left to pose the more than obvious statement.

"And you gave it to him!"

"I figured Russian bombshell and he decided to run off together. I was disappointed, but he's my friend. I wouldn't tell him no." He took another swig from the orange juice container. "He's still here and Agent R doesn't know anything about it. Now I'm a little curious as to what he _is_ doing."

The words rested on the room like a cloud of ill will. No one wanted to face the thoughts suddenly dredged up in their minds. The reality was too terrible. Almost as if he sensed what was being discussed, Clint Barton came in from the elevator hallway. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and he was in a hurry. The bag he left by the living room as he worked his way into the kitchen cabinets and the nighttime snacks they offered.

"Having a powwow and no one invited me?" he said off handedly as he ravaged through the food.

Too overcome to move, let alone speak, the group watched him walk around them for a while. Clint paused and considered the team with a curious expression on his face. Every one of them was staring at him. Before Clint could make the situation more uncomfortable for everyone, Steve took the initiative to speak up. Like a therapist working an intervention, he started.

"Clint, we've been talking."

Clint grabbed a handful of Nature Valley bars and refilled his water bottle from the tap. "I sure hope you're talking. Otherwise this would be the world's most uncomfortable dinner." Clint turned off the sink and looked at Steve while screwing the cap back onto his bottle. When it became very serious how important their talk appeared, Clint stopped. "Ok, what? Someone die? World under attack by aliens again?"

"Clint—" Natasha said, but it was all she said.

Again Steve picked it up. "Clint, we're all a little worried about you. Frankly, more than worried at this point."

"What? Wait . . . . what?"

"We know you aren't working a case, we hardly see you."

"Now, hold on a second-"

"None of us know where you've been going, Clint!"

"Steve, please, let me just-!"

"Then the file you took from SHIELD about Coulson, the call to Tony, the money, my personal file . . ." Steve lifted his hands and let them drop. "What are you involved in? If there's something we can do, of help, Clint, tell us."

Barton couldn't contain the shocked expression on his face. "Oh my God, what do you think I'm doing? Selling secrets to HYDRA or something?!"

"Barton."

Clint pulled away from Steve's hand. He didn't know if he should be insulted or laugh. "I can't believe you think I would—I mean, this is rich. This is really something, you know that?"

Natasha tried to stop him from rushing off, but he refused to even let her close.

"No, forget it, You guys are crazy, do you even hear what you're saying? I'm leaving. You guys enjoy that little trip down insanity lane, but do me a favor and don't invite me along, got it?"

Clint took off, leaving his teammates behind.

* * *

muhahahaha!


	7. Chapter 6

_Author Note: here's an extra chapter for being such good sports!  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 6

Stark wasted no time crashing through the nearest window. His scanners projected the 3D image of the building interior into the blue glow of his HUD. Steve was a super human, he could survive a few extra minutes in a poisoned environment. Clint didn't stand a devil's chance in heaven. Tony grabbed the latter first, blasting him out of the building and down, down, down to the city streets below where Natasha was now waiting between the allies. With his first load deposited, Tony flew back up for the Captain.

Bruce was waiting just beyond the front of the abandoned building, wondering what may be happening. When he saw the state of Clint being brought down, he hurried over. Natasha was stooped on the ground beside his head. She'd already started mouth-to-mouth.

Bruce hit his knees. He pushed Natasha away for a moment to check Clint's vitals.

Stark appeared with Steve in his arms. The captain was unconscious as well.

"He's not breathing!" Natasha exclaimed. "Bruce, he's not breathing!"

"I understand that!" Bruce shouted back.

Steve was gasping. Tony helped push him up until he was seated with Stark bracing his back.

"We need oxygen." Bruce said. "Stark, that thing has its own oxygen supply right?"

Stark pushed his face plate up. "Yeah, you need—"

"Romanov, get Steve. Tony I need that suit now!"

They shifted.

The world was spinning with motion. The dark night and dirty city streets encompassed nothing in the small reality that the Avengers were absorbed by. The mission was over. The recon was useless. There was only this reality staring harshly at them, begging the men and woman to solve this problem or suffer forever with the result. Tony stripped out of his suit quickly. It took jostling and shifting, but finally they fitted it across Clint's head and chest. Tony hooked up JARVIS and the oxygen system was circulating instantly.

"JARVIS, scans! Neuro and cardio, tell me what's going on." Tony commanded.

"_Sir, my system scans are incomplete due to the lack of a complete seal."_

"Yeah, don't care! Scan now!"

_"I'm reading a dangerously low oxygenation level and there seems to be a problem in that Agent Barton is not yet breathing. His heart was beating at a decreased rate and now it appears to have stopped entirely."_

"Can you shock him?" Bruce asked.

As a response, Clint's body jolted. Over the plates of metal armor Bruce leaned. He cracked an opening between a few incomplete fissures and began to pump down against Clint's chest.

To Natasha he said, "Get the ambulance called?"

Steve was swallowing and gasping and struggling against his own shirt collar to get air. He knew he wasn't done for; it took more than a little gas to kill him. But that did not mean the process of living through a potential death was any less terrible to endure.

Natasha had called for the ambulance already but she called again.

"JARVIS? Give me some good news." Bruce said.

"I'm sorry. There is still no sign of—"

Bruce pumped again. He pulled the face plate up and looked into the bluing cheeks.

"Bruce?" Stark asked.

Banner pulled the faceplate down again. His fingers made a fist against Clint's chest and he continued to push.

* * *

that's all for now!


	8. Chapter 7

_Author Note: this is tooooo cute:)  
_

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 7

"Tony thinks you've lost your mind. Captain Rogers believes you've been possessed. Natasha has your phone bugged. And your room. And most of your clothes. Banner and Tony haven't left the lab in three days."

Clint enjoyed at the news Pepper brought. He had to admit, letting the others suffer a little made it worth his trouble in the end.

Clint looked around the place and had to feel pleased with himself. "Let them sweat." Clint said, grinning.

The decorators, Smithsonian directors, thrift shop owners, and all the other private memorabilia collectors who had come together on Clint's pet project were gone. The place was finished. After bringing Pepper in on the game, it had taken a grand total of two months and three weeks.

Walking into the apartment at the corner of Park Avenue and east 86th street was like taking a step back through seventy years of history. The laminate tile floor extended to the left into the cast iron kitchen. The authentic 40s stove was backed by tacky period wallpaper and abutting a massive fridge. The lead had been removed by force and elbow grease. Forward of the front door was a wall of windows with every highlight of the city beyond. Most of Central Park was on display right through the woven curtains and across the barber rug. The couch was expensive in its time. Brown leather as warm as a piece of melted chocolate. Behind the couch was a small wall of shelves, surely to be filled soon. Already every photo Clint could get out of Steve's personal file and Coulson's private one were framed and mounted. Even a particular doozy of Steve sans super-serum. That was placed front and center directly beside a picture he'd found of Peggy Carter.

The living room broke off to a pair of bedrooms. The one on the right was complete with a pull down, wall-hidden bed with bathroom attached. The opposite room was converted into the ultimate gentleman's fortress. A pool table, walls of books, none any older than 1945. An old tube TV was erected in a corner by the entertainment bar. Beside that were two low green-shaded lamps and matching brown leather arm chairs. Above the cherry wood half paneling on the green matt wall paint were some of the mementos Clint had tracked down. The Captain's first shield. Some post hummus medals from the war. Even old news clippings detailing the courageous acts of Captain America and his men.

"You did great, Clint." Pepper told him.

Clint cleared some dust off of the shield. "Yeah, but don't you think we should re-gear that tv? And the microwave? Modern functions with old style?"

Pepper laughed. "Clint, I swear, if you don't stop you never will. Besides, if you'd don't tell him now, then Tony may have to commit you beforehand." With the imploring look Clint now trained on her, Pepper understood what he meant. "You know, I think Tony's pretty handy with tinkering."

She walked to him and slipped her arm around his back as they looked up and admired the Shield together.

Breaking the news to Tony of what his money was funding turned out to be easier than Clint estimated. Frankly, the minute Stark realized that Clint was in fact still of his sane mind and body and not being corporeally possessed by an evil Asgardian he was in the position to help however he could. Tensions between Steve and himself had been reaching epic proportions. To show the Captain that not only did Tony care about his mental well being, but also went out of his way to show it, would reflect positively overall.

Tony's little tinkering with every electronic in the place took perhaps thirty-six straight sleepless hours. Clint was ever on hand in order to be sure Tony didn't decide to go overboard and completely modernize the place. But Tony was surprisingly sedate, a first in their brief relationship.

What was lacking in excitement with Stark's entry into the secret would be made up in spades when Steve was at last dragged in. Clint had planned the introduction with all the suave influence he mustered. He approached the Captain one day as a small group of the Avengers were sitting on the couch by the television. Some general news channel was streaming banners, none of which were particularly interesting at the time. Markets were crashing, some were going up, and there was a terrorist attack in Lebanon. All the general things that was typical during current days.

Steve was sitting beside Bruce. Natasha stood in the kitchen working her way through a bowl of Raisin Brand. Tony had gone ahead of Clint to the garage. He'd be picking out a car by now and warming it up for the trip downtown.

"Cap?" Clint said quietly.

Steve turned in his seat to look at Clint.

"I've got something to admit." Clint said. He'd been over this speech a few times now. He had to deliver it just right.

Bruce tapped the mute button on the tv. Natasha flicked a private smile at Clint then returned to her cereal. Both had been made aware of everything the night prior. Natasha was mad, owing to Clint's bruised arm where she'd beat him mercilessly for scaring her so badly. Bruce was just happy he wouldn't be turning in a failed psych evaluation to SHIELD.

"Ok." Steve said, remaining open and calm. "Whatever you have to say, it's all right. You can tell me."

"You won't be disappointed?"

"No, Clint, I won't."

"You'll keep this between us? You won't tell SHIELD?"

Steve folded his fingers together and shifted his shoulder awkwardly. "That I can't promise. I'd have to know the specifics first. I hope you understand that."

It was the response Clint knew he'd been trained to give. Hell, Clint would have given the same line had this situation been reversed. "Well, I can't really tell you. It's something I have to show you if that's all right."

Steve looked at Banner, then Natasha. Neither held an expression that could easily be read.

"Tony's driving." Clint clarified. "In case you're worried I'm trying to turn you over to some lab or something."

"Clint, I would never think that of you." Steve told him, his face serious. "I'm apprehensive. I care about your health. Any C.O. would. Do you want Agent Romanov or Dr. Banner along?"

Clint shook his head. "No."

Steve took a breath in, blew it out slowly, but agreed. "OK, Clint. You're the one running this show. Do you want to leave now?"

"Yes."

Steve pushed off the couch and gave a curt goodbye to Banner and Natasha. No more words were exchanged. Steve paused by his room for a moment to pull on his boots and grab a jacket. Clint stood in the doorway. He seemed fidgety and nervous. To Steve it was a comfort having back up along, even if it meant he'd have to endure Tony Stark the entire way. The fact that Clint was willing to talk about his issues at all was an improvement he couldn't have hoped for.

Together they entered the elevator and took it down to the garage. Tony was already in his Fisker Karma with the engine purring. He'd been required (or so he said) to purchase the ostentatious car when the Avengers officially took residence in the Stark Tower. All of the cars he owned were two seaters. Purchasing the Karma was like taking a Porsche and making it longer and classy without turning it into the abomination of the Porsche Cayenne. Clint got into the back, forcing Steve into the front seat. Buckled and settled, they left the garage and merged into the busy Manhattan streets.

The drive was long and silent. No one spoke. Steve had expected Stark to carry the conversation through all measures of inappropriate lengths. He even expected to be informed of their destination before arrival. But he received nothing. Stark was as silent and stoic as a tombstone. Behind him Clint was looking out the window and watching the city pass them by. It was obvious by the way he drove, Tony knew exactly where they were headed. The fact that Clint had first confided in him wasn't a surprise. They were already close friends, and more so than Steve and Clint were. The overwhelming silence was beginning to eat on him though.

"Feels like you're driving me in a hearse." Steve commented.

Tony snorted. "Fitting word choice."

"Why do you say that?" Steve jumped to ask.

Tony's eyes flicked to the rear view mirror. Clint slowly shook his head. "Sorry, Cap, this is Hawk's show."

Steve didn't miss the private look the two exchanged and found himself even more confused about the situation. Stewing in curiosity he didn't attempt another conversation. He'd sit back and watch this play out to the end.

They hadn't gone far, but the drive through traffic was long enough. Tony had elected on circling the Tower and driving through Times Square for some unknown reason. Threading through weekend foot traffic along that stretch was impossibly slow. By the time they'd gotten clear of the major hang ups, Steve could see they were traveling toward Manhattan's Upper West Side. He wondered if they'd end up crossing the bridges and leaving Manhattan altogether, but given the talkative nature of the two men he was riding with; Steve doubted he would find out until they reached the bridge itself. He considered how long Clint would be away for during the days and nights and attempted to use that as a guestimate as to how long he may be trapped in the car. But Clint could have gotten on a plane and crossed half the country for all Steve knew. He didn't like surprises, and already this was turning into a trip he wished he'd never agreed to.

After navigating Times Square and cruising up 7th Avenue, Tony made the turn onto West 59th street and took a left on 5th Avenue. Hugging close to Central Park, the Karma followed the traffic of 5th Avenue all the way to the transverse 85th street that split Central Park into upper and lower halves. When they emerged, they were on West 86th Street. Steve could sense the car beginning to slow as Tony's eyes scanned the area. It was obvious whatever they were driving towards, they had finally arrived. Steve was glad that it was within the same state.

"Go right." Clint reminded gently.

Stark turned the wheel and they traveled up Central Park West before turning suddenly into a housing tower. After pulling into the parking garage and finding a spot right away, the men got out.

The first thing Steve noticed out of place was their parking spot. Directly beside them his motorcycle was waiting with a security detail and a chauffeur in white gloves. The security was standing by the wall of the parking garage with sunglasses fixed to his face and his arms crossed. The chauffeur was young, perhaps in his thirties with a bellhop cap and a cheerful grin. He was holding a silver platter. On top of the platter was a set of keys.

"Captain Rogers, we are very pleased to meet you at least. As a representative of this establishment, it is my honor to hand you these keys. We have taken the liberty of detailing your motorcycle and have affixed its keys to the ones you now own." The chauffeur said.

Steve turned to Tony and Clint. Clint was looking at Tony for a moment but quickly shifted away. What the Captain had not heard was their brief exchange. Including Clint's ideas that Stark's showmanship was a bit grandiose. Stark affirmed that if it was his money, he was going to spend it however he pleased.

All Steve saw were the faces returning his look of curiosity with expressions of nothing. It was as if this peculiar occurrence was invisible to them. At the Chauffeur's insistence, he picked up the keys from the tray and slipped them into his pocket. The security officer, as if on cue, shifted to the right. Behind his back was riding a sign affixed to the garage wall. It read:

_Private Parking_

_Captain Steve Rogers_

_War Hero_

Steve's mouth dropped a little and again he turned on Stark and Clint. He had the feeling suddenly that he was being set up. That this whole charade was some big joke that he'd been an unwilling victim of.

"Really?" he grumbled. "Guys, come one, this isn't fun—"

"We have your room ready." The chauffeur jumped in, gaining Steve's attention again. The tray was slipped under the man's arm and he swept his opposite hand to the side. "Please, sir, if you would just follow me."

"No." Steve said flatly. "Stark, I don't know why the Hell you dragged Clint in on this, but I don't find it amusing. And I'm not going up into _your_ hotel room to hook up with some dame _you_ picked off the streets." His face had turned red. It was obvious he was angry.

But Clint interrupted before Tony could say something that would sink months' worth of hard work. "It's not like that, Steve! Please, just give me the chance to show you. You promised to trust me. This was my idea and Tony's worked real hard to help me finish it. I know you're not for this flashy stuff," he indicated the bellhop and the guard and the sign. "Just come up and take a look though. Please, I'm asking as a friend."

Clint's unexpected outburst had been a serious plea. Steve could see it in his face, and even the way Stark looked so concerned over the Captain's threat to take off. It was enough to cause him pause. And it was just what was needed to make him agree.

With the chauffeur heading the way, the three men walked toward the elevator. They took it up to the 12th floor, Steve noticed along the way something he hadn't initially.

"Wait a minute, I know this place." He said.

The chauffeur piped up: "Yes, sir, the building was erected in 1906. It is our understanding through records that on visiting Manhattan in 1942 you stayed in one of our lower level apartments with five of your friends from the war."

Clint smiled behind Steve's back, enjoying every moment that this reveal was building up to.

"1942? That's when the Yankees lost to the Cardinals wasn't it?" Steve said, thinking back. "I was at that game. All of us were."

"I believe so, sir." The man said.

The elevator stopped on the 12th floor and they walked out to the immaculate tile floors and the old wood smell of New York through a century. Steve's anger had subsided at once as old memories came crashing to the front of his mind. He walked beside the little historian now, reliving those old times.

"I think I broke a lamp." He said. "Bucky got so drunk he started dancing with a bar stool. That was a tough loss."

They reached an apartment at the end of the hall. They had turned somewhere along the way so that they were now looking out a hall window displaying Central Park. Steve leaned on the sill and took in the sight. "While this is a great trip out, guys, I still don't get—"

"Your door, sir."

Steve looked over to the apartment they'd stopped in front of. The door number read simply 5. Given the ascending numbers since reaching the place (well into the 110s by now) the apartment number was out of place.

"Joe DiMaggio was number 5." Steve said.

"I know, sir. We decided to make an exception." The chauffeur explained. His white gloved hand swept toward the door handle. "Your key?"

"What happened to the guy with the number 5?" Steve asked. He was beginning to guess what was behind the door, and suddenly he didn't want to face it. He couldn't even look at the two men who'd brought him here. It was like the world was beginning to speed up and he couldn't catch on with it. He felt his heart beginning to thump and given the size of it he was sure everyone else was hearing it thump too.

"I wouldn't worry about that." The man said.

Steve fumbled for the keys he'd shoved into his pocket. His fingers were suddenly like numb rebels refusing to obey his command. He couldn't take his eye off of that number. "The Orwell House, that's the name of the building isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Clint spoke up. He gave a short nod to the chauffeur who took the signal. The man gave Steve a polite little salute, then extended his hand for Steve to shake.

"It is a pleasure, Captain Rogers." He said genuinely. "May I be the first to welcome you home."

They shook hands, the little man bowed and left. Steve still had his keys in his hands, even though he couldn't really figure out what to do with them. Tony took over for him. Without a word, he tugged the keys from Roger's hand and inserted them into the door lock. The knob twisted and pushed inward. Then they waited on the landing for the Avenger to decide what exactly he was going to do.

Steve felt his throat constrict. Something in his body flicked over to autopilot and he walked inside. Everything he saw was positively blinding. A hand covered his mouth to prevent an errant noise from escaping as he walked around. He could sense Tony and Clint follow him in and shut the door, but there was nothing he could do or say for a long time.

His eyes fell on the kitchen with its bright primary colors and the mechanisms of a past he knew as keenly as the day before. The burners on the range, the lead lined fridge, the handles of the drawers, and the tile on the floor. The food, the towels, the chairs, the everything. He felt emotion sting in his eyes as he looked at it all. His hand dropped from his face to caress the top of the kitchen counter, and then he moved outward to the leather couch, the hanging lamps, the tables and carpet. A stack of books left in a center piece on his shelf . . . _his_ shelf. There was a picture of him as he once looked. The scrawny penniless kid from Brooklyn with the big hard. Beside it was a framed photo of Peggy in her regulation uniform. Then a smoky bar room photo of the men in his squad with Steve sitting in a corner and Peggy's arms around his neck.

That emotion he'd felt hiding behind his eyes suddenly came out. He gasped, tears poured forward. He picked up the picture and ran his hand across the glass. He looked over at Tony and Clint now.

"Clint thought you needed a place to call home." Tony said. "That's what the money was for, Steve. He used your personal file and Coulson's old research to put this all together. Pepper and I helped when he was trying to do the finishing touches. Had a slew of people in here, Steve. They all wanted to do this for you. We wanted it for you."

As if remembering himself, Steve rubbed his eyes on the backs of his sleeves to clear the tears from his face. He put the picture back in place, right beside a stack of books he just realized where there.

"Clint, are these?" he said suddenly, snatching one off the shelf.

"Yeah," Clint said. "took a while to find them, but they were just where you said they'd be. In your old footlocker. Some guy out in New Mexico had them in an antique store. When I told him who they belonged to, he just gave them to me. I got a letter here someplace. He'd like you to autograph a picture for his son. I told him you would."

Steve sunk down on the couch with the book in his hands. There on the intro page under the words The Great Gatsby was the handwritten note

_This Belongs to Margaret Carter_

_(I expect to have it returned, Steve)_

That tightness in his throat came up again and clamped hold like a vice. He flipped the pages, finding the other note from Bucky. It didn't have any words, just a dirty picture he'd drawn at camp one night to get Steve to blush. Steve laughed a little seeing it still there. Even after so many years.

"That's not it." Tony said.

Steve looked up from his book and slowly closed it. "What more can there be?" He asked. "God this is just so much already."

Clint and Tony headed up the hall way and Steve stood to follow. He held onto the book, as if by putting it down he'd risk losing it in time all over again. They reached the first room. It was like a 1930s bathroom throwback. From the washbasin to the shower and tub, even the toilet looked like it hadn't seen the light of day since being churned off a turn-of-the-century factory floor. Then came the bedroom. It was simple, just the way Steve liked it. He even recognized the print on the bedspread as something his mother once owned. Now that was going back in time all right.

The door across the hall opened next and Tony and Clint walked in ahead of Steve. They stood on either side of the room as the soldier walked in. It was his nex study/library/pool room. The table was exquisite. His old shield was framed on the wall beside the framed newspaper articles he'd never had the chance to see. His medals and patches from the war were aligned along the bookshelves. Positively everything gleamed. But nothing was as impressive as what else waited for him in that room.

Two leather chairs were arranged at the far end of the room with a low table between them. one of the chairs was already occupied. Despite the years weighing him down and the harsh lines of so many wars, Steve recognized instantly the man ho was to be his first visitor.

"Dum Dum!" Steve exclaimed. He rushed over, even as the ancient man tried to get his feet under him. Steve caught him halfway and pulled him into a careful embrace, terrified to break him in half.

"Oh my God!" Steve exclaimed. "Oh my God! I just can't believe it. You're alive, you're alive and you're right here!"

"Hell, Steve, I'm only 104, I'm not that old!" Timothy Dugan replied. He slammed a hand against Steve's chest. "Hugs now? Who's the wimp now? I might not have muscles like you, but I'm a man who can still prefer a handshake, you girl."

Steve pulled back and helped the man sit. He knelt in front of him, still too shocked to believe what he was seeing. "Is it really you? Tim, I mean, is it really you in there?"

"What's that supposed to mean, you Brooklyn idiot?" Timothy growled. "I'll have you know I can still wipe this floor with you at pool so don't give me that hellish sympathy, got it? Guess how many girls I got right now?"

Steve smiled. "How many?"

"Fifty three! All fine dames with the hair of twenty year olds, and a couple of them gold diggers too. Pretty young dames hoping to get some of the millions I stole from Hitler during the war."

Steve cocked his head sideways. "Dum Dum, you didn't steal millions from Hitler during the war."

The old man gave him a mischievous grin. "Looks like the only people that know that are you and me, don't it?"

Steve laughed, really laughed with his old friend joining with him. He couldn't wait to catch up. He wanted to spend a lifetime in this moment with these feelings spilling over in him.

"Your friends are trying to run off without saying something, Cap. You wanna thank 'em, better get on it." Tim told him.

Steve spun around and sure enough Tony and Clint were gone. Steve excused himself quickly and hurried out to catch them. They weren't in the living room, or kitchen. The front door was just swinging shut. Steve burst out into the hall. Tony and Clint were already at the far end, waiting for the elevator. Steve jogged up to them before the elevator doors could open. He grabbed both of them in a tight embrace at the same time. He knew he could break them by accident, but he didn't care. He held on tight, letting his gesture explain for him the depth of his eternal thanks.

"Enjoy it, Steve." Tony said. " SHIELD called, we've got a mission downtown when you're ready. Tailing some guy and something about nuclear something."

Steve bobbed his head but it was hard to tell if he actually heard anything they said. He disappeared inside again.


	9. Chapter 8

**Better Homes and Gardens By Clint Barton**

_Author: PeechTao_

Chapter 8

There was a chorus of laughter. Haunted voices of the past echoing in a land from beyond the grave. As they died down a single voice overtook their guffaw and continued with the lines made famous so many decades ago. More laughter. Then the tunes of an old piano began to grace the airways followed by the charming tones of the Andrews Sisters. It wasn't until then he realized the voice before belonged to Bob Hope.

There was a steady woof-woof-woof of air being pushed overhead by the swinging blades of a fan. The world smelled of clean clothes, old books, and bacon. His arms felt heavy, but he lifted his hands up to his face to rub away the sleep from his eyes. His nose itched. Something was across his face that was both familiar and foreign all at the same time. When he reached his nose, he realized why. A line of oxygen was attached to two cannula. They were delivering fresh air even now.

Clint pulled the line away from his face and tried to open his eyes. The lights were dim. The room was slightly out of focus. There was no mistaking the strange world in which he awoke. At least it was one he recognized.

There was an old green trimmed lamp on the desk to his right. Beneath it rested a copy of The Great Gatsby. A large window surrounded by white lace curtains displayed a picturesque view of the New York skyline at sunrise. At the foot of the bed curved a wardrobe flanked by separate doors.

Clint knew the lay out well. He knew where he'd woken up. What he did not know, was why.

One of the two doors open and Steve Rodgers walked in. Clint could have laughed at the sight. Captain America was wearing a yellow half apron. In his hands was a plate of decent smelling breakfast. At least pancakes, bacon, and maybe even eggs were all stacked up together. The smell was enough to tempt him.

Steve set the tray on one of his corner tables and sat down in his arm chair. He looked like a real throwback from the middle of the last century. It was strange, but almost right to see him looking like that.

Before he settled down, Steve approached and leaned across Clint's borrowed bed. He realized that Clint was awake and staring at him.

Steve startled back with a hand at his chest. "Oh my gosh, Clint, you scared me!" He eased into his chair. "Wow, we were really worried about you. I mean, the doctors said, but well. It's good to see you up."

Clint coughed some, fighting with the persistent constriction in his throat. "Happy to be alive. Didn't really expect that I'll admit."

"Tony thought you'd finally bit it." Steve told him. "We brought you here after the hospital. After all he did, I got to hand it to Tony. Not only did he follow orders when he needed to but I think the only reason you're alive now was because he didn't listen to me to begin with."

Having no remote idea of what Steve was talking about, he tried to follow as best he could. "That's good then, I s'ppose."

"We considered bringing you straight back to the Tower, but this was so much closer. We figured the less stress the better. You hungry?"

The piano playing and the women singing had ceased. There was a round of applause and Bob Hope's voice began dropping its one liners beside the likes of Bing Crosby.

"Not so much." Clint said, turning toward the source of the sounds. There was an old radio standing in the corner by the window. While the front may have held the similar look to all other radios of the period, there was no mistaking the updated mechanisms making it run through an MP3 player. It was a piece Clint had not commissioned. In fact, he had no idea where it came from. At least not at first. But with some careful thought he realized there was only one real answer. Tony had made it up.

That thought alone was enough to make him grin.

"Too loud?" Steve asked. He moved to turn it down or off, but Clint stopped him.

"No, leave it. It's all right."

Steve sat again.

"I like it." Clint said. He shifted over on the bed, tucking his arm up by his face. "Nothing like another near death experience to remind you how nice it is to be alive."

Steve smiled. He grabbed his plate of food and relaxed against his cushions.

"Love the apron, Steve. Never knew yellow was your color."

Captain America leaped out of his seat, toppling his food and yanking the offending garment from around his waist. He fumbled around for words, trying to explain away the embarrassing moment, but Clint could only widen his smile.

"Just glad you feel at home, Steve. That's the most important thing."

* * *

thanks for reading! this was the final chapter, hope you enjoyed!


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